Reckless Viscount (2 page)

“Do you find this type of thing amusing?”

He cocked a brow at her question. “What type of thing?”

She lowered her fine brows over her expressive gaze and pursed her lips together in a way that should have given her a sour appearance. But Leif looked at the disapproving shape of her full mouth and felt only an intense desire to kiss her. He glanced up from her lips and was stopped by the flash of ire in her gaze.

She was irritated with him.

It took him by surprise—her annoyance and the realization that he had caused it. He did not irritate women. He charmed them. Usually quite effortlessly. He was handsome, roguishly wicked and exceptionally well-versed in all forms of seduction, from soft and sweet to dark and licentious. He knew what he was about. He had been playing this game for many years and with women far more experienced than this pure Irish lass.

Not that he had been trying to seduce her, but if he had been, it should have been easy. Her youth, lack of sophistication, obvious innocence and naiveté. She should have been receptive, warm and practically falling into his arms by now.

“This—” she indicated pertly with a sweeping gesture of her slim hand, “—being inappropriate, shoving me off balance to see how I react.”

The young woman was proving to be disturbingly perceptive. Considering the fact that he often used manipulation and distraction when dealing with members of the fair sex, a perceptive female was not something he relished.

“Is that what I was doing?”

She gave him a gentle little frown that showed more than words could what she thought of his prevarication. “You must think me a foolish woman if you believe I would not notice the glint of ridicule in your gaze or the derision twisting your lips.”

Leif laughed then and watched as her frown deepened. Too perceptive by far.

“Ah, you saw that, did you?” He lowered his chin and tipped his head toward her like a lover and was pleased by her sharp intake of breath. “Well, I assure you, I only ever ridicule myself.”

“Of course you do,” she replied through tight lips. The sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable. She shifted and pushed away from the door at her back. The slight movement stirred the air just enough to send a hint of wildflowers to his flared nostrils. Leif tensed, thinking she might walk away. Instead, she turned to face him squarely. Their postures were now intimately matched though still separated by several inches.

His blood pulsed at his temples.

Pale, shining eyes met his with direct and unwavering accusation. “I know what you are.”

Leif arched a brow. She couldn’t possibly be
that
perceptive.

“You do?”

She nodded.

“My father warned me about rakes and scoundrels who would try to take advantage, but he needn’t have bothered. I have no intention of allowing my better sense to be swept away by false words and flattering glances. Such things have no substance, no value when it really matters.”

She spoke with a fervent conviction that revealed her innocence more than anything else could, and Leif couldn’t stop himself from teasing her further. “You have experience with
rakes
and
scoundrels
then?”

Her eyes widened and a lovely blush spread across her cheeks. “Certainly not. And I intend to keep it that way. I have no desire to fall victim to sweetly uttered lies that will leave me ruined and broken hearted.”

“Well, I am not nearly so thoughtless,” Leif replied with a grin. “I never make promises I am unable to keep, and I’ve never left a lady with a broken heart.”

He didn’t feel it necessary to clarify that the women of his intimate acquaintance had hearts far too sophisticated to break.

The young lady sighed. It was a heavy sound that echoed from a place far deeper than he imagined might exist in one so ingenuous.

“There you go again,” she muttered, “thinking me a fool.” She tipped her head to the side, peering at him again in that keen way that had him wondering what she saw. “I suspect your charm gets you into far more trouble than it gets you out of. In spite of your declaration that you are otherwise, it is clear you are a
very
dangerous sort or you never would have approached a woman completely unknown to you and behaved in such an outrageous manner.”

Leif was at the same time pleased and perturbed by her observation. He grinned and brushed his knuckles along the underside of his jaw as he eyed her thoughtfully. Her gloved hands were linked together at her waist. So tightly the pure white fabric was deeply creased.

A barricade against him? Or an indication she was holding something back?

“Outrageous, am I?”

“Most definitely.” She nodded.

Leif pushed off from the door and straightened his posture. He fairly loomed over her diminutive stature. The position gave him a pleasant view of her softly curved cleavage and a distinct physical advantage that did not go unnoticed by her. Her eyelashes fluttered against her fair cheeks.

“Let me ask you this, Irish.” His voice dropped to an intimate murmur. “Though I am denying nothing, if I am as bad as you claim, why have you deigned to converse with me as long as you have?”

Her striking sea-green eyes flew up to meet his and she drew a swift breath as if to protest his insinuation. Then just as quickly, she snapped her mouth closed and narrowed her gaze as she appeared to reorganize her response.

Leif experienced a sharp stab of regret that she hadn’t gone through with her initial reaction. He suspected it would have been far more amusing than what was to come.

“You make an excellent point,” she agreed. “It is most certainly in my best interest to bring this…unusual interview to an end.” She tilted her head and eyed him with a blend of caution and query in her gaze. “I suppose I have no choice but to trust you will not speak of my indiscretion here.”

“No need to worry, Irish. I am not one to carry tales. Besides,” he added with a jaunty nod of his head as she stepped away from him and started across the library, “we have not exchanged names. I haven’t the slightest idea who you are.”

For some reason, his words gave her pause. She stopped and glanced back at him over her shoulder. Then a gentle smile crept across her full lips, as if she had just discovered a delightful treasure she intended to keep all to herself.

“Again, you are quite correct,” she replied after a moment, “and isn’t it lovely.”

The dancing lilt of pleasure in her voice was unmistakable, as was the jubilant little spring that lightened her steps as she continued from the room.

Leif watched the delicate sway of her backside until she was out of sight. The unique sound of her voice flitted through his brain like a trapped butterfly and the scent of her lingered in the atmosphere where he stood. It took him another moment to free himself from the sensual snare the unusual woman had caught him in without even trying.

Then he chuckled. An odd little creature indeed, and one he hoped to encounter again. Shaking off the last of his distraction, he turned toward the door at his side and pressed his ear to the solid wood surface.

Chapter Two

Abbigael Granger waited until she was out of view of the library before she sprinted across the grand hall to the main stairway. In her agitation, she took a wrong turn at the top of the stairs and had to backtrack to find the bedroom she had first been shown to just a few hours earlier.

She closed the door behind her and gave the lock a turn for good measure. Then felt foolish for doing so and turned the lock back again.

She was not usually so flustered. But then again, she had never before been caught in such a humiliating position. Her cheeks burned with shame and she pressed her hands to her face as she paced to the casement window.

Eavesdropping on her hosts before they had even agreed to her father’s request.

How utterly stupid.

Abbigael unlatched the windows and threw them wide. The brisk air of the Essex countryside swept into the room and cooled the heat in her cheeks. The open windows presented a stunning view of the Blackbournes’s manicured gardens not yet fully awaked from the winter. In the distance, a faint shimmer of silver reflecting in the afternoon sun hinted at the presence of a trout stream.

Abbigael should have been delighted by the sight as she loved fishing. But at the moment, her thoughts were not coming together in a normal fashion. The pleasant scene spread out before her faded away from the image of a grinning rogue with lightly tousled caramel-colored hair, eyes that were neither blue nor green nor hazel but some unique mixture of them all, and a manner that was far too bold.

Oh, Abbigael had met bold men before. Some of her father’s political cronies could stand to take a few lessons in social restraint. But she had never before been the object of such…suggestive attention.

The handsome man from the library had an overabundance of charm and had displayed no moral reticence as he taunted her for his own amusement. He knew what he was about, to be sure. No honorable gentleman would have spoken to her in such a brazen and suggestive manner. He had almost drawn her in with the soothing rhythm of his words and what she at first thought might be a glint of real appreciation in his gaze. Luckily, she’d caught herself before she managed to make an even bigger fool of herself. The golden sparkle in his eyes was more likely the flash of careless mischief and willful wickedness, certainly not a reflection of sincere and honorable interest.

She turned away from the window and crossed to the enormous four-poster bed that dominated the room. She lifted her skirts to climb onto the high mattress and stretch out crossways on her stomach, folding her hands beneath her chin.

Whoever he was, Abbigael hoped she would not have cause to see him again. Not only had he been witness to her shameful behavior, he also made her feel acutely aware of herself in a way that was decidedly uncomfortable. There had been a few brief moments when she had felt as if she were seeing herself through his eyes, and in doing so had seen something unexpected and unusual.

And she did not like that one bit.

She needed everyone to see her as no different than any of the other young ladies out hunting for a worthy husband. At twenty-one years of age, she was already going to be older than most of the other girls. Add to that the fact that she was from Ireland and no raving beauty and she already had enough to overcome. She did not need the added burden of being seen as an oddity.

A bright thought sparked through her melancholy mood and she scrambled to her knees in the center of the bed. The encounter with the unknown gentleman had proven one thing in her favor. The fact that he, scoundrel though he was, considered her for a brief interlude of flirtation gave her hope beyond measure that her trip to England may be successful after all. What he had said just before she left was perhaps her greatest advantage. No one here knew her.

But she wasn’t naïve.

Her past was known by too many, and she only had so much time before someone recalled the gossip connected to her name. Her father, as powerful as he was in Dublin, had not been able to stem the tide of malicious talk that had doomed her chances of marriage in Ireland. She prayed London might be far enough from home to give her a chance, because once the rumors from her past came to light, even her immense dowry and her father’s political connections wouldn’t be enough to attract the husband she craved.

A sharp knock at her door startled Abbigael from her musings.

“Miss Granger? It is Anna Sinclair. May I come in?”

Oh, for heaven’s sake, it was the Countess of Blackbourne herself.

She had expected her father to come up and tell her if she was to stay on in England. She had not expected the lady of the house to personally seek her out.

Abbigael scrambled atop the mattress, trying to shift herself in a more decorous position as she replied. “Yes, of course, my lady. Please come in.”

The door opened instantly and the countess swept forcefully into the room.

Lady Blackbourne was an exceptionally beautiful woman. Tall and black-haired with exotic dark eyes. From the moment she had been introduced, Abbigael had sensed in the lady a force akin to that in nature—unrelenting and determined, yet soft and kind in the subtle ways that mattered.

Her father had warned her that the countess was an eccentric, a noblewoman who engaged in business as the proprietor of a renowned Thoroughbred racing stables. But the lady’s husband, the Earl of Blackbourne, was a distant cousin and Abbigael’s best chance at receiving a proper reception in London society.

If they agreed to sponsor her.

Her cheeks burned again as she recalled her deplorable behavior in the library. She would be mortified if the grand lady discovered she had tried to listen in on what had been intended as a private interview between the Blackbournes and her father.

She hoped the rogue who had witnessed her actions could be trusted not to carry tales of what he had seen.

Lady Blackbourne smiled as she approached, waving a hand for Abbigael to stay put when she would have slid to the edge of the bed to stand. The countess came forward and sat down beside her. Abbigael tucked her feet beneath her skirt and tried to straighten her posture.

Settling herself with effortless grace, Lady Blackbourne turned to face her with warmth in her easy smile.